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an anthology of poetry. by Geraldine Calca Cash. American poetry, English poetry.

She should have died hereafter; There would have been a time for such a word

She should have died hereafter; There would have been a time for such a word. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life is but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury Signifying nothing.

Cash, Geraldine Calca. Rubrics: English poetry 20th century.

Walt Whitman is America’s world poet-a latter-day successor to Homer, Virgil, Dante, and Shakespeare. In Leaves of Grass (1855, 1891-2), he celebrated democracy, nature, love, and friendship

Walt Whitman is America’s world poet-a latter-day successor to Homer, Virgil, Dante, and Shakespeare. In Leaves of Grass (1855, 1891-2), he celebrated democracy, nature, love, and friendship

Resting on laurels of peaceful reminiscence, relaxing, watching interior videos play automatically in leisurely fashion. Closing eyes, picturing words as they appear in visions set to music.

Resting on laurels of peaceful reminiscence, relaxing, watching interior videos play automatically in leisurely fashion. Reminders of the days past and present, all being written into tomorrow's books of poetical essence.

Diamond Public Relations.

Read various fiction books with us in our e-reader. Tomorrow's Yesterday, a book of Poems.

out, brief candle! This is the passage the class is studying: Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow! . New Yorker, Oct. 8, 1966.

out, brief candle! This is the passage the class is studying: Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow! Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, A poor player that struts and frets his hour Upon the stage, and then is heard no more. 7, 1968. Rich in Russia (Bech). New Yorker, Jan. 31, 1970.